A brook of blessings.

The way bodies move genuinely to beats
Is, after all, gorgeous and affecting.
Dance until you're sweating
And beads of perspiration remind you of life's best things
Down your back like a brook of blessings
--Tanya Davis

2010 was a humbling year for me physically. I got taken out at the knees by a five year-old in an ice rink from behind, and in an instant my entire existence was located in the tip of my tailbone. After 6 weeks of not moving much, I decided to take up capoiera. Then I threw my back out picking up a garden hose and, after a week of not being able to put my pants on, sciatica came for a visit and decided to stay through five days of watching other people dance at Esalen. Come summer, I was laid up by a severe gut infection that was diagnosed by a procedure I don't wish on my worst enemy.

I became afraid to make a move because it seemed like every time I got a little better, I got a full smackdown.

Then I went to a yoga class. And another one. And one more. And then a whole month, focusing very consciously on being honest about what my body could manage, and on finding compassion for that. Then two. Now three.

And on Solstice this year, I went back to the dance studio and dervished like I haven't been able to in almost a year. 

Terry Tempest Williams wrote this wonderful book called Leap, about the year she spent in Spain at The Prado looking at one Bosch painting. She writes that "movement is a place," and it is. It's another dimension of existence, one that's weightless and formless and without boundary. It's a place that feels more like home to me than anywhere else, with a family of other boundary-less people that I am so lucky to have found.

This week, I came home. I am home, finally. 

As the year closes, my wish for you is that, if you haven't yet, you find your home.